Into The Dark
by countrygirl1986
Summary: Where is that fine line between loosing yourself and saving yourself? How can you find that? Can anyone help you?


**AN: I know that Somalia has been done to death. And I'm sorry to do another story on it, but I agree with so many of you out there that it seems like they just shrugged it off. But anyways, I hope you all like it!**

**I own nothing, nada, zip. This makes me sad. Oh well, maybe someday.**

The darkness consumed her. With every heartbeat, the darkness got darker and the silence got louder. She could feel herself slipping away further and further from reality – from who she was. It was like she was right back there – in _that_ place.

She could feel the cold, dirty floor beneath her naked; broken body. She could feel all of her wounds, new and old alike, as she moved around trying to get comfortable – a gash here, a cigarette burn there, broken wrist, and dislocated shoulder, just to name a few.

That pain, however, was not the worst. The raping was. Every time seemed to be worst then the last. With every thrust of every rape, she felt a piece of her die. At last, she was ready to give up. She was ready for the darkness to take her for forever. She didn't want to leave her "family." Did they even know she was alive? Were they looking for her?

She didn't deserve for them to find her. She had hurt them all, and Tony, oh how she cried every night for him. She never got the chance to tell him she loved him. Now, it looked like she never would. She had hurt him the worst, so if she was found, he would hate her.

They had hurt each other so many times during their time together – Jeanne, Rivkin, and even Ari. Why couldn't life be simple? She vowed that if she was ever rescued from this hell hole, she would resign effective immediately from Mossad and become an American Citizen and be in NCIS on Team Gibbs.

She could smell the filth of human waste. She wanted to throw up. The small windowless room she was kept in magnified the smells of waste and dirt. So, she gagged.

The sound was so real. She heard the rusted out heavy wooden door open and the footsteps of the men come in. She prepared herself for what was to come.

She heard Saleem laugh his evil laugh as she heard zippers being undone. She felt the unwanted touch of the men. Some slapped her, some choked her, and some just petted her.

She fought so hard. Her hair was grabbed and her head thrust back. Then, with the first hard and painful thrust, she awoke with a start.

The light from the rising sun coming through her living room window was blinding her. No longer could she feel the floor or feel the rawness of the wounds. With each sunrise, she was brought further and further from that place but the wounds never seemed to get smaller.

She reached over to a vase on her coffee table and with one last scream, she through it across her living room and watched it shatter against the wall. Feeling the rush, she grabbed the empty bottle of whiskey that cluttered her coffee table and through it across the room to see it receive the same fate as the vase.

She then grabbed the other bottles of alcohol that sat on the same coffee table and through them one by one across the room and watched them shatter into a million pieces. She didn't care if her neighbors heard her. She grabbed her empty glasses and delivered the same fate to them.

Soon, she was out of stuff to break, so she stood up and tossed her coffee table over. She then proceeded to do the same with her couch, and chair, and anything else until she had nothing left in her apartment to "trash" so to speak.

Leaning against the wall near where the glass littered the floor, she looked around her cluttered and trashed apartment. Realizing what she had done, a sob shook her body and she slowly slid down to the floor.

She knew she was not OK. She hoped she could be OK one day. She didn't know if she could wait though.

A large piece of glass that survived stuck out to her. She leaned over and picked it up. She looked at it and studied it. This easy broken solid, could easily help her. It could take her away from the pain and the memories she dealt with. She had seen some cases like this during her time at NCIS. She had heard the "best" way from Ducky. She imagined what it would be like and feel like.

With her heart beating faster, she went to the bathroom. Turning the glass over in her hand, she tried to decide what to do. Should she just cut herself? Should she just go ahead and release herself from this pain?

She would pray, but what is the use? Her 'god' left her in her time of need. Granted, she was never devout in her faith, but didn't Judaism teach that she would never be alone?

Apparently, that was not the case. She was glad she knew the truth. She had prayed and prayed for her suffering to end in that hellhole, but nothing happened. She couldn't share the same "faith" as her biological father.

Father, Abba, Dad. All words that one should call the first man in their lives. The one who was responsible for creating one half of her. Eli was no father. He was head of Mossad, and only cared about her alliance to himself Israel. All they shared was DNA and the last name. Hell, they didn't even have to share the last name.

Eli killed to get what he wanted. He had taught her to do the same. But after sending her to NCIS, she changed somewhere along the way. Eli did not like that one bit, and therefore, sent her to her death. Her family had saved her. Her family – her rescuers – they saved her from the hellhole nightmare.

She looked at the piece of glass in her hands. How would her family act if she was to leave again and never come back? Sure, she could easily slice her arm and watch her life flow out of her with every drop of blood. Would her family think of her as weak? She already knew she was weak.

She didn't realize it, but she had cut herself with the glass. It wasn't so deep as to be threatening, but it was deep enough that blood was coming out of the wound on her arm and falling on the floor. It was as if all the hurt was slowly leaking out of her body. Now she knew how those hooked on cutting ended up hooked.

In that moment, Tony crossed her mind. That man could make her so mad, but he cared enough to die for her. He came around the world to avenge her death only to find her alive and bring her home. He saw the hell she was in.

They brought her home out of that hell. But in a way to her, she traded one in for another. The looks from others outside of her family were the worst.

The pity in others eyes made her want to snap. But soon, those same eyes haunted her. It's like they were staring at her like she was a freak show during the days, and then consumed her in her dreams along with being broken in that camp.

Her family was her only saving grace. However, they all treated her like she was fragile, and in truth, she admitted to only herself, she was. She was walking on that fine line of slipping into darkness, or getting to where she was OK.

Her therapist, who was mandated by NCIS to become an NCIS agent, had prepared her for the nightmares and the struggles after. Abby tried to be cheerful around her all the time, McGee was awkward around her, Gibbs was her sturdy rock and new found father, Ducky was the only physician she would see, Palmer was the most awkward around her, Vance avoided her, and Tony was, well, Tony.

How does someone deal with something traumatic like this? There is no handbook. There are no guidelines. No one could help, though everyone tried.

The circles under her eyes became more and more pronounced through the weeks since being home. She was thin and malnourished when they found her, but she had become even thinner since being home. It's like she was trying to disappear.

Her family was worried about her. Each member helped in anyway they could. She would never be the same; she would never have the future she always hoped she would have.

The brought a new wave of tears and sobs. She wanted to get married, have kids, and grow old together with her husband. She wanted Tony. But in truth, she was too broken. Any man deserved someone that wasn't so damaged and afraid. She had too many scars – mentally, physically, and emotionally.

She would die alone. Her father won.

She couldn't and refused to believe that. She needed help from the one man who she could depend on no matter what. She needed her Abba – Gibbs. She called him and sure enough he had come over.

She had moved into her room and sat on her bed. She heard the door open and close and heavy footsteps come towards her. She automatically knew they were Gibbs's.

His heart broke when he saw her. The bloody piece of glass had been placed on the nightstand. He saw the bandage on her arm. He walked over to her, sat down, and gathered her in his arms.

With that, tears she didn't know she had left fell. They dampened his shirt.

Gibbs had had enough with this self destruction and her hopelessness.

They sat there, in silence while Ziva cried what was left out of her. He told her what happened when he came home after Shannon and Kelly had been killed. He told her what he did. She knew that she would be OK. She could be normal again, though it would take time and her family would be by her side with every step.

Eli was wrong this time. He lost.

**AN: Well, what did you think? Please review and let me know what you thought!**


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